Sleepy Hollows
by WildClover27
Summary: A dark tale on a dark night. Or is it just a tale?


As always, the characters are not mine and I have no financial claim to them. Neither is the tale referenced in this story. I wish to acknowledge the excerpt came from "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" by Washington Irving. It can be found at . , a site I have no affiliation with but am grateful for the information provided. Happy Halloween.

Sleepy Hollows

Thunder crashed and rain lashed the diamond paned windows of the downstairs common room. Just the sound sent chills through the men who were ensconced closer to the fireplace than normal. Even though the flames snapped and crackled, they seemed not to dispel the damp cold. Casino and Goniff were sitting on the sofa, a card game spread on the seat between them. Even Chief had forgone his usual perch in the window to huddle in the tall-backed chair he had dragged closer to the fire.

Actor was the only one who seemed to be unaffected by the weather and the cold. He was seated in his chair, feet up on the ottoman, a lap blanket over his legs. His pipe was held up in one hand, elbow resting on the arm of the chair, as he absently puffed on it. A small leather bound tome was held open in his other hand, his attention centered on the story he was reading.

A particularly loud crack of thunder almost seemed to shake the walls. Chief glanced uneasily at the window and back toward the confidence man. Something about this storm bothered the Indian. Maybe it was something to do with the date. It was All Hallow's Eve, the night spirits of the dead walked the earth. Chief tried to hide his fear of dead spirits from the others, but he could not hide it from himself.

"What you readin', Actor?" he asked in a voice he was thankful remained calm.

"The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," replied the Italian, not looking up.

Casino's head shot up with a look of surprise. "Hey, Ma used to read that to us kids. Scared the pants offa us."

That got Goniff's attention away from the lousy hand of cards he held. "I heard o' that. Never 'ad it read to me. Wot's it about?"

Actor looked up and noted the interested looks he was receiving from all three men. So much for quietly burying himself in a good tale.

With a sigh, he began to explain. "There once was a schoolteacher named Ichabod Crane, who taught at a little school in Tarrytown . . ."

"Ain't that north o' Manhattan?" interrupted Goniff eagerly, recognizing the name of a town he had never been to.

"Yes," replied Actor, shortly, annoyed at the interruption. "Master Craine was riding down a road through dark woods one night, when he felt a menacing presence . . ."

"The Headless Horseman?" No one had noticed Garrison coming out to the door of his office. "Our mother used to read that one to us on Halloween."

Another interruption, thought Actor in mild annoyance. He watched the Lieutenant walk over to rest a hip on the back of the sofa.

"Read it out loud," Garrison suggested, forgetting he usually had to tippy-toe around his second's aversion to taking a direct order.

Actor took a puff on his pipe and flipped back a couple pages to begin the tale anew. He read the words, his rich deep voice taking on the tone of the story. The four men listened raptly to the story that was familiar to some and new to the others. The rain and thunder just added to the spooky atmosphere evoked by the tale.

"_. . . __Just ahead, where a small brook crossed the road, a few rough logs lying side by side served for a bridge. A group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grapevines, threw a cavernous gloom over it. Ichabod gave Gunpowder half a score of kicks in his starveling ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge; but instead of starting forward, the perverse old animal only plunged to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of brambles. He came to a stand just by the bridge, with a suddenness that nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. Just at this moment, in the dark shadow on the margin of the brook, Ichabod beheld something huge, misshapen, black, and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveler._

_The hair of the affrighted schoolteacher rose upon his head, but, summoning up a show of courage, he demanded in stammering accents, "Who are you!" He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgeled the sides of the inflexible Gunpowder and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion and, with a scramble and a bound, stood at once in the middle of the road. He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his waywardness._

_Ichabod quickened his steed, in hopes of leaving this midnight companion behind. The stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind - the other did the same. His heart began to sink within him. There was something in the stranger's moody silence that was appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow traveler in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horrorstruck on perceiving that he was headless! But his horror was still more increased on observing that the stranger's head was carried before him on the pommel of the saddle._

_Ichabod's terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping to give his companion the slip, but the specter started full jump with him. Away then they dashed, stones flying and sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lank body away over his horse's head in the eagerness of his flight._

_They had now reached that stretch of the road which descends to Sleepy Hollow, shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the famous church bridge just before the green knoll on which stands the church._

_Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, plunged headlong downhill. As yet his panic had given his unskillful rider an apparent advantage in the chase; but just as he had got halfway through the hollow, the girths of the saddle gave way, and Ichabod felt it slipping from under him. He had just time to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder round the neck when the saddle fell to the earth. He had much ado to maintain his seat, sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse's backbone, with a violence that he feared would cleave him asunder._

_An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church bridge was at hand. He saw the whitewashed walls of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the place where Brom Bones's ghostly competitor had disappeared. "If I can but reach that bridge," thought Ichabod, "I am safe." Just then he heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convuisive kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash - he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider passed by like a whirlwind."_

Actor finished the story and closed the book.

Casino chuckled. "That used ta scare the crap out of us kids."

"Mum never read nuthin' like that to me when I was a tike," said Goniff. He turned to the officer leaning on the sofa by his shoulder. "Yer mum read it tuh you when you was a boy, Warden?"

In a rare moment of personal revelation, Garrison smiled and explained. "We lived on the ranch. There would be a little Halloween party at the school in Cut Bank, so we could dress up and get candy if the weather was nice enough for us to get there. When it wasn't, our mother would make a pumpkin cake and one of the ranch hands would carve a jack-o-lantern for us. Just before bed, Ma would read that story to us. Gave us nightmares when we were little." He grinned at the con man. "Thanks for reading that, Actor."

"My pleasure, Warden," replied the Italian. His annoyance at the interruption of his evening replaced by the smug appreciation that his recitation had captured the undivided attention of the others. He closed the book and set it aside, placing his spent pipe in the ashtray beside him. "And now I believe I will retire for the night."

His departure prompted the others to seek their own beds.

GGGGG

Chief added wood to the fire in the small fireplace in this room. It did not seem to take the chill off the room. The wind was coming from his side of the manor house and sending damp air whistling in between the window halves. Lightning flashed, filling the room with cold white light. His nerves were already on edge and that story had not helped any. His culture believed the spirits of the dead were not to be taken lightly.

Stripping down to singlet and shorts, the young man crawled into bed and curled into a ball on his side under the cold sheet and blanket. It would take a while for his body heat to warm the bed. In the meantime, he closed his eyes and willed his body to sleep.

GGG

Inky blackness blanketed him as his horse slowly moved forward down the narrow dirt road winding through the menacing woods. The tree limbs reached above his head to meet in the middle, creating a tunnel his eyes could not penetrate. The old horse knew his way down the rocky path that led from the school house to his small wooden abode. Though they came this way every day, there was something different about this night. There was something sinister about the howling wind that blew between the trees, showering dead leaves down to swirl across the road. Whether it was his own apprehension communicating to the animal beneath him or the same feelings in the beast, the horse shied at shadows and unseen menaces.

Chief felt rather than saw the bulky outline of an unknown threat that wove between dark tree trunks to his right. His emotions tried to make him urge his mount forward at a quicker pace, but the lack of light and the roughness of the road prevented him from doing that, so he continued on, keeping a worried eye on the unknown object that matched his pace.

For a moment, the unidentified creature, for creature it was, disappeared and Chief hoped it was just a trick of his imagination. That hope died quickly as a tall black horse stepped up beside his. Chief could not make out anything in the lack of light beside a tall bulky mass covered by a huge heavy dark cloak that draped over the figure and down the sides of the restless, prancing beast. There was a somewhat rounded object dangling from the saddle horn, but Chief could not tell what it was.

"Who are you?" he asked. When there was no response, he repeated, "Who are you?"

No answer was forthcoming. Chief applied heels to his mount and urged the old horse forward at a quicker pace. The snorting black steed kept pace. The road narrowed ahead to barely the width of two horses and a small cart. Chief slowed his mount to allow the other to go ahead. A feeling of relief filled his chest as the horse and rider moved on ahead. However when the road widened, the rider slowed to again keep pace beside the anxious Indian.

Chief guided his horse to the edge of the road, trying to keep as much distance between himself and the other rider. No matter whether he sped up or slowed down, the figure remained beside him, though he did not seem to be concerned about closing the gap between them.

It was a man decided Chief. The sheer bulk of the figure dictated that. The Indian wondered why the man did not speak. He seemed to just be content to keep abreast of the worried young man.

The woods began thinning, allowing brief streaks of light through as the clouds blew apart and back together. It was not until they had emerged into open pastureland that Chief was able to finally see his companion clearly. He gasped in horror.

The cloaked body had to be of a man well over six feet in height, but there was no head above the cloak's collar. The Indian's wide eyes flicked down to the object dangling from the saddle horn. It was a head! It was lifted aloft by a long fingered hand entangled in thick dark wavy hair. The eyes were open, seeming to study him. A long, aristocratic nose led down to a white teeth showing starkly through a wicked grin that only touched the right side of the mouth. The grin widened into a soundless laugh.

Demon! An abomination from the spirit world! An undead soul!

Chief whipped his mount with reins and dug heels into the animal's flanks in an effort to get away from the horror. The other made no effort to keep up with him. The bridge was ahead. The stories of his ancestors taught that demons could not cross water. If he could cross the bridge before the demon caught him, he would be safe.

Chief's breathing was as loud and ragged as that of his horse. The bridge came into view. Not daring to look back, Chief urged the horse to gallop as fast as he could. Hoof beats rattled loudly on the planks of the bridge as they tore across. Once on solid ground, he pulled up and turned the sweating animal to face the demon.

The black horse was rearing on the other side of the bridge, hooves not touching the wood that spanned the roiling water. The black shrouded body stood in the stirrups holding its severed head above it. The arm swung back and sharply forward, releasing the grotesque object.

In slow motion the head tumbled over and over as it flew through the air. A silent laugh flashed as the face rolled in flight across the bridge. Chief found he was unable to move, muscles as frozen as the horse beneath him. All he could do was watch in terror as that laughing head came closer and closer. It hit him in the head and knocked him from the horse into an abyss of darkness.

GGG

Chief bolted upright in bed with a cry of horror that thankfully was drowned out by another clap of thunder. His breath came in ragged gulps and he was covered in cold sweat. He shook uncontrollably. With great effort, he told himself it was over and just a bad dream. Or was it?

Damn Actor and his weird stories! Didn't the man realize you just didn't dabble lightly with the spirit world?

Grateful that no one had heard his yell; Chief flipped his damp pillow over and slid back under the covers. It was still a long time before he was able to drift into a dreamless sleep. He did not see the black horse rearing on the broad expanse of wet lawn in the pouring rain; a black cloaked figure astride it, arm raised to the lightening filled sky, brandishing a dark severed head with a wicked grin.


End file.
